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Kenos Inbox
voice / text / communion
D's mind is a cacophony of things.
The landscape is shadow and darkness, and it is chilly and reserved where D sits in it; he feels like a simple young man. Quiet, soft, human. But behind the stoicism is a warm, sensual, and elegant sliver of something primordial and powerful. Embracing it is hypnotic, arousing, yet also a little horrifying.
Amidst all of this is something else, too: a craggled and old presence which can be heard on occasion cackling or chattering separately, the crusty voice belonging neither to D or the peculiar entity in the space.
The landscape is shadow and darkness, and it is chilly and reserved where D sits in it; he feels like a simple young man. Quiet, soft, human. But behind the stoicism is a warm, sensual, and elegant sliver of something primordial and powerful. Embracing it is hypnotic, arousing, yet also a little horrifying.
Amidst all of this is something else, too: a craggled and old presence which can be heard on occasion cackling or chattering separately, the crusty voice belonging neither to D or the peculiar entity in the space.
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If it were anyone else, it'd be so easy to dismiss as a bluff. Too bad D seems consistently, infuriatingly, stupidly sincere in everything he says. ]
... s'that right.
[ In the end, Gen settles for that dismissive response, one corner of his lips rising in a lopsided smirk. ]
Well, quit it. Not like there's anything here to understand. [ He's not lonely. This is meaningless. It's just a moment of vapid indulgence, really. (He insists, at least to himself.) ] Don't waste your breath on that shit. As long as you play nice, I won't go snitching on you to the rest of Highstorm. I ain't a rat.
[ With that, he hooks a finger into the top of the neck of D's shirt, aiming to yank it down and start unfastening it. Whatever it is that's affecting him has him especially impatient for the good old sensation of skin on skin; all that stuffy leather D's wearing doesn't do as much for him. Even as he continues to fight with D's clothes, rendered a little clumsy in his haste, he ducks his head in to press his lips against D's throat, right under the jawline. Dragging his teeth along the pale skin there and taking in the intoxicating scent he seems to exude 24/7.
Maybe he's motivated by just a little bit of petty desire for revenge when he nips at D's throat; a mirror of the same bite he'd begged for in the past, even if his own teeth aren't sharp enough to so easily puncture into flesh. ]
no subject
[It's expected Gen would shut the gate on the wall that's up. D doesn't mind, he knew it'd be there. He allows Gen to continue this way if it's the most comfortable.
He just knows that's probably not true.
Very languidly, D reaches up to gently take Gen's arm at the wrist, to stop the frantic digging at his collar. He pushes Gen's fingers back behind his neck beneath the hair, letting the tips feel the teasing zipper there. It can come down a little, to the top of his back, but lying down, with Hayame's strange haori, it won't go down much more.
Which isn't to say the collar doesn't fold somewhat out of Gen's way as Gen comes down to abuse his neck. He tips his chin up slightly, trying to keep Gen from being frustrated. A reward while he drops his own hand to the sash of the outer layer and pulls it open. It was a gift; he doesn't want Gen to tear it trying to get to him.
And then that same hand very suddenly appears under Gen's clothes at the waist, feeling the skin at the bottom of Gen's ribs. Shockingly, somehow not cold at all. It's warm like his neck. Is Gen ticklish? The nails might tickle a little if he is.]
You didn't think this through. [His voice hums in his throat against Gen's lips.] You should have let me undress first.
no subject
S'more satisfying when I can do it myself.
[ This might be marginally charming coming from someone more considerate or gentle, but coming from a brutish piece of shit like Gen, it just sounds rancid. Sorry, D.
He's quick to tug the zipper down so he can dip his fingers past the fabric. D's skin is almost unnervingly smooth, not clammy at all despite being trussed up in leather for god knows how long. Is that another vampire thing? Though most of the vampires he'd fraternized with through Bloody Marie's had been cold to the touch. -- Gen gives a startled grunt when he feels a palm drag up his side under the loose drape of his shirt, canine ears flicking back and tickling at D's cheek, given the way he's nuzzling D's throat. ]
Well ... though I guess it's fine, if you'll make a show of it. [ The bed creaks beneath them when Gen abruptly straightens up to sit back on his haunches, tugging his shirt up and off in the same movement. Unlike D, his build is pretty unremarkable, his skin marred with the criss-cross of old scars. That done, he looks expectantly down at D, wearing the most insufferable shit-eating grin. ] C'mon. Gimme something worth looking at.
[ So he says, but D is always worth looking at. ]
no subject
When Gen leans up again, D remains where he is without moving. The show can go both ways. He watches the shirt come off and makes no move to avoid his eyes. There is no starvation or thirst to his gaze, but the way he surveys Gen's exposed torso definitely means he is looking on purpose.
He lifts a hand and drags a single long, pale middle finger down the center of Gen's chest, from collar to navel, light. With an unnatural fluid gracefulness, he raises his upper half directly off the bed, and he places a pair of surprisingly warm lips against Gen's sternum to taste the dip in the skin there. But his fingers hook into the top of Gen's pants, and he yanks, flipping them around. Gen is dumped onto the bed where he had been, and he glides away to his feet.
His back turns to Gen as he removes the robe; he folds it politely and lets it land at his feet. He reaches around behind him and up, then pulls the zipper very slowly down the curve of his back, allowing the dark leather fold open and away from his skin. Teasingly beneath the long hair, glimpses of a surface like the moon. Unmarred and white flesh, the muscles carving out the shadows. The tunic is peeled forward and off, and he lowers it to the floor on top of the robe.
Then he faces Gen again, an infuriating and disgustingly perfect upper-half of lean muscle, unblemished aside from the missing left arm, a body hidden almost shyly by the curtain of hair. He begins to undo the belt as painfully slow as the tunic with one hand.]
Take the rest of yours off.
[It's not a request.]